


cut 'em all loose and work's my excuse

by montecarlos



Category: Formula 1 RPF, GP2 Series RPF
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Romance, blowjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 21:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7378339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/montecarlos/pseuds/montecarlos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Max and Pierre get closer during the Austria GP, only for Max to have to comfort his boyfriend later that evening when Pierre crashes out of his own race.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cut 'em all loose and work's my excuse

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slowly become a slut for these two together and this was written as a result of Pierre crashing out of the race yesterday and me just wanting Max to comfort him. For Emma as always for being amazing and allowing me to drag her down with this ship.  
> Title taken from I Took A Pill in Ibiza by Mike Posner, which I listened to whilst I wrote this.

“Looking good,” A familiar voice curls through the air, the arms winding around his waist, around the stupid lederhosen printed onto his new Red Bull overalls - and Max was hoping to avoid his boyfriend whilst wearing Christian’s latest press statement. Max meets Pierre’s bright blue eyes, a smile quirking at his lips as Pierre’s hands run over the scratchy fireproof material.    
  
“Did you miss me?” Pierre whispers, his hands tracing over the material in light circles.    
  
“Of course I did,” Max says quietly. “I was going to find you after practise,”    
  
“I couldn’t wait,” Pierre admits, leaning into his boyfriend slightly, his lips brushing at the collar of Max’s racing suit. “I wanted to see you before you went out,”    
  
“We have all weekend, schatje,” Max says, allowing the Frenchman’s lips to move over his skin, feeling the warmth spread over him at the sensation. “We have all night,”    
  
“Mmmmm, and what do you plan to do to me?” Pierre whispers, his breath ghosting over Max’s collar.   
  
“Fuck you so hard you forget your name,” Max says, turning around in his boyfriend’s arms. He’s always loved the fact that he’s been a few inches taller than Pierre, the blue eyes lock on his own for a moment as a curve settles on his plush lips. “Would you like that?”   
  
“I would,” Pierre mutters as he surges up against the Dutchman, his arms curving around Max’s neck as their lips tangle together, his other hand twisting into the scratchy overalls. “It’s been a while,”   
  
“We saw each other in Baku, and you stayed over at my place in Monaco,” Max reminds him softly, his lips nipping against the Frenchman’s, unable to keep the smile from his face. Pierre returns the kiss, his lips soft against Max’s as they kiss, Pierre’s hand fisting into the overalls.    
  
“You know though, these overalls-” He says in between soft and slow kisses.    
  
“Would look better on the floor?” Max teases as Pierre’s hand moves to slowly rip open the velcro that holds his race suit on. Max hisses as the cool air dances over his pale skin, as Pierre’s eyes drink in the sight of his naked form teasing through his suit. “Do you like what you see?”   
  
“I’d like it even more when your cock’s inside me,” Pierre mutters, impatiently. He rips open the velcro lower and Max groans against his lips.    
  
“Pierre, don’t, what if Christian-” Max begins as Pierre’s hand pushes past the scratchy material, past his cotton boxers, cupping his half-hard cock in his hand. Max feels the gasp bubble past his lips as he groans heavily. “Fuck,” He breathes out as Pierre glances up at him, a small smile curving over his lips.    
  
“I missed you, darling,” Pierre whispers, his eyes shining, his hand picking up speed, Max’s cock responding to his touches. Max wants nothing more than to take Pierre back to his bunk and bury his cock inside the Frenchman for teasing him just before he’s due to go out and put his car as high up in the positions as he can, but he knows he can’t. Pierre suddenly drops to his knees and Max finds himself backing up against the wall, his head hitting the surface as Pierre’s mouth envelopes over his cock, his tongue soft and warm, lapping up the thin pre-come leaking from the tip.    
  
“Fucking hell, Pierre,” Max breathes out as Pierre takes him inside his mouth, sucking on the soft skin, humming around Max’s cock. Max finds his hands fisting into Pierre’s dark mussed hair, eliciting a moan from the Frenchman as he feels his dick respond to Pierre’s tongue. Pierre’s tongue traces over the vein in his cock, his hands grasped around Max’s thighs hard enough to bruise. Max feels Pierre’s name fall from his lips as Pierre’s mouth swirls over his shaft, tracing over every single inch of his weeping dick, the salty taste of his come dancing over Pierre’s tongue.    
  
Pierre pulls away slightly, his tongue moving to trace over Max’s balls. Max feels his head knock against the wall, as the warmth envelopes his testicles. Pierre presses his tongue against that sweet spot behind his balls, sending shockwaves through his body, the warmth curving over his thighs. “Fuck me,” Max whispers out as Pierre’s tongue thrusts over the sensitive area again and again, smiling slightly as he watches Max’s cock swell further, the pre-come oozing from the tip. Max tugs on Pierre’s hair as the Frenchman moves back over his shaft, lapping at the thin line of pre-come sliding down his swollen member. His tongue swipes over the slit of his cock, catching another line of salty thin pre-come before he dips in and out in a frantic motion, humming around Max’s dick.    
  
Max feels the orgasm build inside him, his hands tighten around Pierre’s hair and he resists the urge to thrust against the Frenchman’s mouth. Pierre’s tongue dips down to trace over the vein in his dick a few more times, the older man taking Max into his mouth, moaning as Max tugs on his hair. Max can feel himself getting closer and closer to his orgasm, the tingling sensation washing over him as Pierre’s tongue dips over his slit, soaking up the come that runs down over his shaft. He comes quickly, his lips curving around Pierre’s name as he feels the sated feeling wash over him, his knees shaking as Pierre’s mouth remains on his cock, his tongue lapping up the come carefully.    
  
“What the fuck is going on?” Another familiar voice pipes up from the doorway. Max’s blissful numbness is quickly wiped away by the sight of Christian Horner standing in the doorway.    
  


* * *

  
  
Max thinks back to that moment, to Pierre’s swollen lips, his hair mussed from Max’s playing. Christian had left as quickly as he’d appeared, his cheeks red from catching his driver with one of his juniors. Max had decided to lay low, to avoid Christian’s gaze at the Red Bull briefing later that evening. He checks the GP2 results as he leaves the offices, overlooking the pitlane of the Red Bull Ring, stopping in his tracks as he glances through the race report.    
  
_ Evans wins in rain-sodden Austria whilst Gasly crashes out _ __  
__  
The headline screams and Max feels the panic flood through his chest as he finds himself half jogging towards his motorhome, wondering how Pierre is, if he’s alright. He reaches the door, half panting from the exertion of running, his heart still racing against his chest. Pulling it open, he thunders up the stairs, bypassing the few people still milling about who weren’t part of the qualifying debrief. He opens the door to his tiny room, relief spreading across his face as he spots Pierre curled up on the makeshift bed, dressed in one of Max’s oversized Red Bull hoodies. Pierre’s eyes are closed and he’s snoozing peacefully against the pillow, there’s not a mark on him as far as Max can see and he finds himself sighing in relief.   
  
He pulls off his scratchy overalls, the cool air dancing over his skin as he carefully curls around Pierre, looking at his boyfriend in fondness. Pierre moves closer towards him in his sleep, moving into the warmth, his face falling against Max’s chest. Max cards his hand through Pierre’s soft mussed hair looking down to his boyfriend carefully for any bruises. He finds none on the soft skin but he notices the drying tear tracks on Pierre’s cheeks, he’d been crying.   
  
“Pierre,” Max whispers, stroking his hair softly.    
  
Pierre stirs at the sound, his bright blue eyes opening as he registers the voice, a hand in his hair. “Max?”   
  
“I’m here,” Max says quietly, still carding a hand through Pierre’s hair. “Are you okay?”   
  
“I’m okay, got a few bruises on my legs, but nothing too bad. I just pushed the car too hard,” He says, his eyes not meeting Max’s. “I had a bad race,”   
  
“You wanna talk about it?” Max asks softly.    
  
“I don’t wanna talk about anything,” Pierre says, closing his eyes. “I just...I wanted to prove to everyone that I can win this thing, to prove to Red Bull that I’m worth keeping,”   
  
“You are,” Max whispers, his hand gently cupping Pierre’s face. “You are worth keeping and Christian and Dietrich will see that,” His thumb strokes over Pierre’s cheek as the Frenchman blinks back tears.    
  
“I’m sorry,” Pierre whispers, the tears falling down, brushing over Max’s thumb as his chest heaves. “I’m sorry for being sad, I mean, you didn’t have a brilliant qualifying-”   
  
“It’s okay,” Max whispers, smiling as he brushes away the tears. “I was more worried about you,” He says, brushing away Pierre’s hair from his forehead.   
  
“I’m okay,” Pierre says quietly. “I just want to forget about today,” He says, burying his face against Max’s chest. Max’s arms move to curl around the smaller man, their feet tangling together. Max strokes over Pierre’s hair. “It’s okay, you’re going to be amazing tomorrow,”   
  
“I doubt that,” Pierre mutters against his chest, his hand curling over Max’s chest, feeling his heart thud against his fingers. “I don’t think it’s going to end well,”   
  
“Hey,” Max says, cupping Pierre’s cheek in his hand and tilting the Frenchman’s head to look at him. “You should believe in yourself, you’re a good driver. You’ll be at Red Bull with me in a few years,”   
  
“I hope so,” Pierre replies, the tears slowly drying on his cheeks. “I’m sorry,”   
  
“Don’t be sorry,” Max replies, his voice soft, his hand still carding through Pierre’s hair as the Frenchman rests his head against Max’s chest, Max’s hands tightening in the hoodie that Pierre is wearing. “This hoodie looks familiar,”   
  
Pierre makes a non-committal noise. Max smiles at the small noise as he watches Pierre’s eyes close and his breathing evens out. He leans in and presses a small kiss against Pierre’s mussed dark hair, taking in the scent of chocolate. Pierre doesn’t stir, exhausted from the day’s events, his hand still curling over Max’s chest as Max lays on the bed and allow his boyfriend to sleep wrapped up in his arms.    
  
“You’ll be a champion yet, darling,” He whispers, allowing himself to drift into sleep. 


End file.
